


it's howling tonight

by bruised_fruit



Series: headcanon compliant [8]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Light Praise Kink, Service Kink, Sharing a Bed, Stolen Century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruised_fruit/pseuds/bruised_fruit
Summary: Davenport shifts. “That seems unprofessional, Lucretia,” he says, hesitance in his voice.“I’m cold,” she tells him, and she’s not lying.





	it's howling tonight

**Author's Note:**

> title from "blue northern lights"
> 
> warnings from my original posting of this fic: lucretia calls davenport "captain" during sex (kinda), but not in a sexual way, she's just unsure of what else to call him. also no spoilers but she uses the word "wild" at one point and i'd like to stress that it's with the entirely positive meaning of the word

Davenport curses, quietly enough that only Lucretia can hear. “Just-- just go back to the ship, Lup. That’s an order.”

If it was anyone else, she would have fought them on it, but they hear her say a cautious “okay,” her voice shaky as it echoes down to them.

Lucretia looks at Davenport with wide eyes, and he ignores her.

“We’re uninjured, you don’t need to worry. Just come back with someone and supplies so we can get out of here. Okay?”

“Okay, Captain,” she says, and though they can’t hear her leave, the 40 feet of height she has on them muffling everything, Davenport relaxes slightly at her words.

He glances over at Lucretia, and she clutches her bag. “We have dried fruit and some water,” she says, and he looks at her blankly, which is off-putting. “Sorry about- about breaking the Stone of Farspeech.”

“Rather it than you,” he says quietly. “You took the brunt of the fall... Are you sure you’re alright?”

She nods. “Just sore,” she says. “Sorry also, that I, uh, got us stuck in this ravine.”

“Not your fault,” Davenport says curtly. He’d been at the edge looking for a way down or across, and she’d been too close behind him, and one of them had slipped, and it didn’t matter now, except the way she grabbed him and twisted around him before they hit the ground, that matters to the both of them. The enchantment on her shoes had probably mitigated the most of the damage. He could have died, easily, but she still feels frustrated, still feels the adrenaline of the fall. Lucretia shudders, and he notices.

“Sorry,” she says again, and Davenport stands, walking a few paces away from her.

“There’s nothing for shelter,” she hears him mumble, so she stands too.

“We have our robes. We just need insulation from the ground.”

Davenport turns to face her, eyes narrowed slightly. But his face relaxes once he meets her eyes, like he's been reminded of something.

She’s always admired his self-policing, but it feels unnerving in this moment. The back of her head lights up with assumptions, attempts to relate to her captain, and she shuts the thoughts down as fast as she can.

“Okay, we have a few hours.” He looks around the ravine. It’s mostly dirt, a few leaves here and there blown in from far above.

“More than enough time to gather enough stuff to get through tonight,” Lucretia offers, though she’s not entirely sure of that.

He looks so stiff. She can practically smell the stress on him from here.

“Sounds good,” he says, and she smiles nervously.

\--

“It’s getting dark,” he says from behind her, and she almost drops her armful of sticks and leaves. “Are you okay, Lucretia?”

“Y-yeah, sorry, just tense.” She looks at what’s in his hands, blinking. “You didn’t have much luck either?”

She regrets the words immediately, but Davenport doesn’t seem put off. Just stiff, still, like he’s fighting to stay upright. “You recorded the temperatures from the past week? Nothing sub-zero, right?”

Lucretia shakes her head.

“So we’ll live,” he says, turning around and dumping detritus at the edge of the ravine.  

She walks over to join him, and he squares his shoulders. She drops what she’s gathered on the pile, too.

“Are you alright, Captain?” He seems angry, more than she’s ever seen him.

Davenport clears his throat, looking at the dirt wall in front of them. “A bit frustrated,” he says, the words awkward and stilted. “But we’ll make it through, right?” He looks up at her, and Lucretia balks at his expression.

“O-of course. We may not be  _comfortable,_ but…” She braces herself slightly, trying to articulate his own rhetoric without sounding too obvious. “We don’t need to be. We’ll get out of this.”

He exhales loudly, and Lucretia looks at him with concern. “You’re right. I apologize, Lucretia. I’m gonna go, uh. For a walk, I guess.”

She watches him leave, uncertain.

\--

Captain Davenport is not prone to emotionality. That much she’s known about him since their first weeks together, back before the Hunger, before the completion of the Starblaster, even.  
  
She’s seen him full of joy and laughter, when the crew teases it out of him, and sometimes bubbling to the surface without prompting. They’ve all seen fear on him, and it’s rare, usually accompanying their own.

When they talk in the kitchen at odd hours, he shows her his anxiety, his concern and guilt. He has all these existential fears, just like her, and he’s saddened that the crew has to suffer, that they’ve witnessed so much loss and lost so much themselves. It hurts her, just hearing about that. (Once, he cried in front of her, regretting leaving home without contacting his family one last time, and she’d cried with him, but he’d been more detached than usual with her in the following weeks. It wasn’t a bonding moment.)

Lucretia can count his outbursts of anger on one hand. Usually mixed with sadness or fear, never malevolent or intimidating. Sometimes there’s something resting below the surface, but not so close that the rest of them can  _feel_ it. She’s worried about him, especially once night falls and the chill settles in, and he’s still not back. She sits on the ground, but it leaches the warmth out of her, so she spreads out what they gathered and lies down, her IPRE robe wrapped tight around her, up to her chin like a blanket.

If it were light out, she would draw. Being alone is hard. She likes it, but all she has now is her thoughts. She holds her bag closer, her waterskin and sketchbooks and ink bottles bumping up against each other.

When Davenport comes back, he seems tense, still, but exhausted too, and he's shivering slightly. He sits down next to her without saying a word, and Lucretia squints at him in the dark.

“You must be freezing, Captain. Do you, um, want to lay down on top of me or something? Huddle for warmth, or something?” Fuck, that was awkward. But you know, suspension of disbelief. She lifts up the robe-blanket anyway. He’s what, forty pounds?

Davenport shifts. “That seems unprofessional, Lucretia,” he says, hesitance in his voice.

“I’m cold,” she tells him, and she’s not lying.

She sees the vague shape of him move again, maybe to move away. Her mouth opens to say, “Please,” "Just forget it, sorry," or maybe, “Don’t worry about it,” if that’s not too presumptuous, but he leans over her.

“Alright,” he says, and he climbs over her awkwardly, arranging himself with care before pulling the robe over the two of them.

Lucretia lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Better?” she asks. Unhelpful as ever, her brain reminds her that it’s been a while since she’s been this close to another person.

“Y-yeah,” Davenport says, then falls silent. He’s still shivering.

\--

Thirty minutes later, they’re both still awake, and she has some regrets. He is so warm, _fuck_ , and she’d forgotten the comfort of this kind of softness and weight. He’s laying on top of her, his face on her shoulder, and the two of them are waiting to fall asleep. Her head is racing, and her body is disgustingly  _aware_ of his.

She hates this. She hates this she hates this she hates this, she hates that it’s been a few days since she’s gotten off, she hates how comfortable and safe she feels under him, she hates how hyper-aware she is of his breathing, every movement and sound resonating with every inch of her. She hates this. Or she loves it, wants more more more but she’s trying to hold that at bay, keep her body in check.

But she can’t. Or she can, but she wants him. Oh fuck, he’s her  _captain,_ she reminds herself, she can’t want him. (What an absurd combination of words, even.) But at the same time, her brain flicks through needs and wants at an unstoppable rate. She’d die if he put his hands on her right now. She’d give anything to know what he feels like, how he’d touch her, how he’d want to be touched. She’d love to know what his orgasms look like, to get to watch him come undone for her.

Well, shit. She’s dug a hole for herself, for sure, because now she’s actively turned on while lying chest to chest with her  _superior._

His leg shifts against her, and Lucretia holds her breath, feeling her cock stiffen under him. She hates being stuck in this 22-year-old body. She hates this, hates all of it.

“S-Sorry,” she whispers as his leg moves away.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Davenport says, insistent, but there’s something off about his voice. She squints in the dark, and his expression is hard to make out, but she can see the glint of his eyes, trained on her.  

Embarrassingly, the stupid thing throbs, and she moves her hips, trying to get more comfortably away, but the way she moves, it’s pressed against him, and she breathes out a quiet “sorry” again, tilts her head back, pretends she’s not actively getting off at the contact. She just needs a little relief, not an orgasm or anything, and then she feels so fucking guilty for having the thought to do anything uncouth, anger at herself growing by the minute, embarrassment threatening to consume any semblance of logical thought.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, just as quietly, and shifts down a little more so it’s pressed against his lower stomach. He rests his head on her chest. “You’re still sore from earlier, right?”  
  
“Little bit,” Lucretia says, and she moves again, trying to be innocuous, knowing she can’t be. She’s nearly fully hard now, and it aches just like the stress ache in her head and the falling ache in her body.

Davenport shifts up, and she gasps. They’re flush with each other now, but the fabric of his pants is much thicker than hers, and he doesn’t even react.  
  
“Same,” he says carefully. “You know, I thought maybe, Lucretia…” She waits, and he seems to fight to find words for a moment. “I could go down on you?”

Her dick twitches, and she’s momentarily glad that all he can feel at this angle is that it’s there, and not how desperately her body’s reacting to his suggestion.

“Oh. That’s, uh, sweet, Captain.” Davenport sits up to look at her, and she watches him. Cold air washes over them.  
  
“Not if you don’t want it, though,” he says, gentle, and she puts a hand on his arm, feels him tense under her.  
  
“It could go away, you don’t have to do anything.”  

“I know how genitals work,” he says dryly. Lucretia lets herself laugh, but that was the wrong decision, because now she’s moving against him, and  _fuck._  She nearly whimpers. He doesn’t notice, as far as she can tell. This is very him, in a frustrating way, because it’d be nice if it wasn’t just her freaking out right now.

Okay. She takes a breath. “Okay. I mean, if you’re sure?” _How could he want this?_ she doesn’t let herself think about. “Also, um, I’m like… pretty sensitive, I guess. So it won’t take much.” She stops herself suddenly, flustered and overly cognizant of what she’s saying and who’s _listening_ , and Davenport leans forward, bracing a hand on her shoulder.

“Totally fine,” he says. “And do whatever you need to be comfortable, I’m just-- I can do whatever you want.”

Lucretia stares up at him, her chest tight. Did he mean that? It’s not like he’s trying to be sexy or anything for her— _ha_ —but there’s something so appealing about his words.

“Then, um, okay? If you really think you’d like that.” Her voice shakes, her embarrassment showing through, and she might be strong-arming him a bit, she’s not sure. She just wants to be sure. And also, a part of her just wants him to keep talking like this, as weird as it is.

“I would,” he says in a clipped tone, and she nods jerkily, knowing his darkvision will pick it up.

She flushes as his hands find her waist, move down her sides to her hips. She closes her eyes, not that it’ll change much.

“Still okay?” he asks, and she makes a little noise in the affirmative. One of her hands finds his shoulder, weighty on him as he unzips her pants. He makes a noise she can’t quite parse as he runs his fingers over her, and she bucks up, overwhelmed even through her underwear. Her head spins as he lowers his head, kissing and sucking at her though the thin cloth, and it feels so good, but she wants to scream.

“What are you doing?” she asks, the strain in her voice, and she laughs, a little stilted, at how suddenly he pulls back.

“S-Sorry,” he says, and she’s surprised at how low his voice is, the  _need_ in it. He pulls down her underwear enough to free her cock and makes a quiet sound at the sight of her, and Lucretia realizes with a jolt that he’s genuinely turned on, he’s somehow into this.

 _How?_ Her brain prompts, and she pushes the thought away, pushes her hips up slightly, because she needs contact. She’s felt alone for so long, and somehow this weird horny encounter with her fucking captain feels like connection. (She missed feeling needed. No one on the ship ever seems to need her, and it’s hardly like she’s any use to anyone these days.)

She’s expecting his hand, his small broad fingers, but instead she feels the heat of his breath, a gentle kiss on the side and fuck,  _fuck_ , she wasn’t exaggerating about her sensitivity, and he knows that for sure now, her hips twitching under him. She whines, and when he licks at her, more enthusiastic, she claws at him, fighting to keep still.

Davenport wraps his hand around her, jerking her slowly, gathering what’s leaking out of her with his thumb, and he laughs awkwardly, the sound thin.  
  
“I thought-- I thought you were already fully-- ah, ready,” he breathes, and she shifts a little as his hand comes to rest at her base. “You’re so  _beautiful,_ Lucretia,” he says.

She takes in some air, stiff. “You don’t have to do this…”  
  
“No, I mean it.” His voice is so earnest that she’s overwhelmed. The tone of his voice… he's almost reverent, and the  _affection_ in it all, her heart is racing. The grip of his hand shifts on her.

He presses a kiss to the head, and Lucretia’s brain stops working. She jerks her hips up, but instead of pulling away, he opens his mouth, taking her, a moan escaping from him. It’s fucking hot.

But still, she yanks his head away, trying to ignore the way he’s already panting.  
  
“I might-- it’s okay if I do that, right? Don’t want you to throw up or something.” She’s embarrassed.  
  
“It’s good,” he says, almost like he’s groaning the words out. His hand on her twists slightly. “You could be rough, too, if you want,” he adds quietly. Lucretia nods, eyes wide. 

As if she's given him permission for something, he takes her again, deeper this time, but it feels like he’s only halfway when he stops. He’s so warm, and that’s- that’s the back of his throat, and that’s enough to make her hips jerk. He makes a strained noise around her, forcing himself down more, his tongue pressed firm and broad against the underside of her shaft.

He holds himself there for a moment, then presses deeper still, and she can’t help but thrust into him, relishing the sensation of his throat, his wet mouth, the noises coming out of him. His jaw must be fucking  _killing_ him, she thinks, but he’s whimpering, holding himself down, face pressing further and further into her.

She hears a snuffling noise, and he pulls off of her, coughing and gasping for air, before taking her again. Lucretia curses, and he reaches a hand up, rests it on the bottom of her ribcage. She holds it, fighting to keep still. She’s so close.

She said that aloud, or maybe he sensed it, because Davenport takes more of her again, little whining noises drawing from him with each thrust of her hips. He’s persistent, and when she releases, finally, her hips jerking as she spills over, he holds his head down as long as he can before pulling off of her. She can feel him cleaning her up, licking her cock even as it softens under him.

“S-shit,” she says, panting slightly.

“So good,” he groans, kissing her again, and she realizes with a jolt that his hand is in his pants.

Lucretia shifts, propping herself up slightly. “Do you, um, do you need anything? I’d be happy to--”

“No, no, I’m fine, sorry,” he breathes hurriedly, pulling his hand away.

“It’s okay, I mean, I want you to get off, too,” she says awkwardly, and he whispers a cleaning cantrip for her. “You did a lot for me?”

He clears his throat. “It was for me, too, don’t worry.”

“All the more reason, I mean, come on--”  
  
“I could have gotten off from just that. It’s fine. I just. Don’t wanna be touched right now. It’s fine, Lucretia.”

She raises her eyebrows, finding his chin and guiding his head upwards so that he’s looking at her face. She can’t see his, but he can see hers.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” Her voice is low. Davenport makes a strained noise, and she smiles a little. “You do?”

His head drops, and she feels his face against her stomach, hears his pants unzipping.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” she says quietly, and she hears him swear.

“Just-- just talk to me, Lucretia? I-I’m close,” he whispers. She feels his arm shift. Her face is hot, and every point of contact between the two of them is too, unbearably so.

“I-- I don’t know what to say?” She laughs, feeling awkward, and he rolls his head more to the side, pressing into her. She can hear the sounds of his fingers in his-- well, he must be inside himself, and that’s fucking wild. “I, uh, well, that was so good, Captain,” she breathes, and she hears him moan and speed up, his head bearing into her more.

Lucretia breathes out a curse, resting a hand in his hair. “Like, really fucking good." The sound he makes at that encourages her, even as her heart races. "Amazing, I-- I haven’t had someone’s mouth on me like that in so long. And you-- I can’t believehow much you liked it--” he cuts her off with a keening noise that goes straight to her cock, and he’s touching himself roughly, she can feel how frantic he is, the way his arm bumps up against her leg. She wants to say something about it. But she can’t. It’s so hot, though, to see her captain like this, needy and _desperate,_ getting off at a little praise--

“P-please, Lucretia,” he pants out, and she runs her fingers through his hair, almost soothingly, even though it's more for herself than for him.

“Tell me what you need, Captain,” she says, and Davenport gasps, rasping and loud.

He says her name again, tensing, and she nearly holds her breath. She wants to do something else for him, she’s desperate to  _give_ to him, but instead she moves her hand to his upper back and whispers something about how good he is. Uses a pet name, this time.

He goes rigid against her, his legs twitching, and she can hear him making the loveliest little whining noises before he relaxes, falls silent.

“Fuck,” she hears him say finally, and she might laugh, just out of the awkwardness of it all, but then he adds, “Thank you,” which certainly makes it all more awkward, but fuck, he’s being so sweet.

“Get up here,” Lucretia whispers, pulling her robe over the two of them as he obliges.

Davenport moves like he’s going to rest his head again, tuck it into her neck, and she wraps her arms around him.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, and he makes a breathy little laughing noise, jerking to face her.  
  
“I mean, of course, but--” She cuts him off, clumsily pressing her mouth to his. He tastes like her, but he’s soft, receptive,  _intense,_  and she still wants more when they pull apart.

She blinks at him. “Sorry, I just wanted to, um...”

“It was nice,” he says, and he leans in, kissing her again, brief but intentional. “It’s, uh, been a while for me,” he whispers when he pulls away again. “I’m sorry that was a lot.”

“It’s fine,” Lucretia says, snuggling him closer. It was _good._

“We don’t have to talk about this again,” he says, almost business-like.

She hums. “We should try to sleep before I pop another boner again, dude.” That draws a laugh out of him, the sound muffled in her neck. “But seriously, it was… it was really nice? Felt good to, um, see you really into something too, to be honest.” He sighs, breath hot. “We could do this again sometime, if you want?”

Davenport’s silent, and for a few seconds she’s worried that she’s overstepped. “I’d like that, I think,” he says quietly, and Lucretia relaxes at his words. “But I-- I don’t want anything about me to be common knowledge, you know?”

“You think I’m gonna kiss and tell about your service kink?”

He laughs again, short and breathy against her skin. All things considered, he’s more relaxed than she’s ever seen him, but then he turns. “I don’t know why it’s a big deal to me, but I’ve just been stealth for so long…”  
  
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, fuck, I’d never--”

“No, shit, I feel like an ass for even being worried about it. But yeah, don’t uh, don't tell anyone about any of this?”

“Okay,” Lucretia says. She’s thinking. “Will, um... will you let me touch you sometime?”

He presses into her more. “Sometimes I need my Alter Self, like today. But sometimes I’m okay without it.”

“That sounds good. I um, I use one too sometimes?” She giggles, feeling awkward. “It’s not that much better, though.”

Davenport presses a couple kisses to her neck, slow and tender. Then he pulls back. “Sorry, I just, uh, feeling sentimental.”

“Nothing wrong with that. You don’t need to apologize for anything, really.”

An intake of breath. Maybe she did something wrong, although the thought feels childish as soon as she looks at it. 

“It’s been such a long day, Lucretia.” He presses a kiss to her jaw, her cheek, then lays his head down again. “You look so beautiful right now, you have no idea.”

“Oh,” she says, and he apologizes again. “No, hey, I mean. It’s sweet?” she says awkwardly. “Just… you don’t have to. You’re being so nice.” It’s always weird when people pretend to care how she feels. She does sort of want him to stop.

“I’m not being nice.” Davenport’s voice sounds thin, strained. "This… _you…_ " He curses quietly. “I shouldn’t have...”  
  
“Hey, this was really good." Is he panicking? She's never heard him talk like this, and it's her impulse to try to calm him down, even as her brain fills with anxious thoughts at his words, at the tone of his voice. "It was nice, Captain. Don’t, um, you don’t need to--”  
  
He interrupts her. “Forget it, please.”

Lucretia blinks. If a show of emotion feels too inappropriate or personal for him, she can understand that, maybe.

“Okay. Uh, sorry if I, uh, did something wrong.”

A little hiss escapes him. “You didn’t. Just try to sleep. This was inappropriate.”

That word! She saw it coming, not that she's glad about it.

She wants to say something,  _do_ something, but even this feels like a lot for him. From him? Lucretia sighs. His body is so tense against hers. It was nice, so very comforting, when he was relaxed.

She missed the softness and warmth of another person, and cuddling is miles better than anything beyond the abstract notion of it that she holds in her mind when she sleeps alone.

And the sense—just the mere idea that Davenport would trust her with anything, with any of his thoughts or his body or his emotions, makes being embraced like this feel even safer.

She wants it again.

**Author's Note:**

> i post dav & lucretia doodles on my twitter @peach_softy if you're interested :^)


End file.
